The Girl Who Watches
by TheIllustriousMadamRed
Summary: River Tam was fragments of a girl. A puzzle with pieces that didn't fit jammed into the works. But the crew of Serenity took her in anyway. They counted her in and kept her close, watched over her when her mind was shattered. She can't make the pain go away, and she can't change what has already happened. But on nights like these, she can watch over them.-Entered into Conman Comp
1. The Wolves at the Door

The co-pilots chair is cool beneath her. Despite the fact that she's been sitting here for some time, it hasn't seemed to gain any warmth at all. Logically she knows that is an impossibility. Her heart beats, her blood flows, her body produces heat that is then transferred to anything that contacts it. The very proximity of her skin, filled with vital warmth and life should have transferred at least minimally to the chair.

But it hasn't. There is a coldness in the artificial air that has nothing to do with the vacuum they're in. Drifting between the stars like travellers lost in the dark. No. this pervasive chill comes from the crew itself. From their minds.

It is a melancholy feeling, a sadness that drags at her mind and pulls her attention in and down. Makes it harder to remember that there is more than just this.

It's harder now.

Before there was so much noise, so much pressure inside her skull, so many people talking all at once, into and over her, it was maddening. It had been difficult enough to pick out the pieces of herself, making sense of the world and the weight of what lay within her senses was an almost impossible task. In those days so much of her focus had been on holding on to what little she could gather together, trying to defend herself from an unceasing onslaught of thoughts and emotions.

But ever since Miranda. Since the overwhelming secret that kept bouncing around in her skull, the weight of thirty million silent minds far too vast to be comprehended but far too important to be dismissed, was revealed. There is more of her. The single voice lost amidst echoes of screaming, of pain and the rush of humanity flooding her mind with so many pieces of themselves, was louder now. Now she can push back against the secrets of others, drown them out with her thoughts instead of the other way around.

She can't stop them. Minds press against hers with a right they shouldn't have, a liberty they never earned. But she can hold herself together, now there is a her to react.

But it isn't as happy as she thought it would be. She knows that she is broken. Pieces of a puzzle that wasn't hers crammed in amongst her parts, when they stitched her together they did it wrong. They took pieces from her to make the new ones fit, and she knows that. In a way it hurt far more than the pain they'd inflicted upon her.

It was one thing to be broken, sharp edges and confused senses. It was quite another to know it could never be fixed. Cracks in a reflection, permanent and etched into her flesh and bones.

It isn't that she hates her life now. Nor does she wish for the days where there was less of her. Serenity has been the refuge its name promised, the staunch ally the blood that stained its memory demanded.

She slides her fingers across the seat, embedding the texture in her mind. Analysing it as the thoughts became sharp and the memories that weren't hers knocked at her skull.

As a child she had never thought much of ships themselves. Their intricate mechanics were interesting puzzles to be solved, somehow creating a flying beast from scrap metal and rusted paint. Knowing that the slightest variation in hull density could potentially spell disaster for an ascending crew.

She'd admired the freedom that flying provided, a limitless sensation to escape the bonds of the earth beneath them. To escape the cage that the albatross had been imprisoned in.

But she'd never known ships could have souls too. That their spirits, though alien, could bond with their crew, watch over them with a peacefulness that belied mortality.

Some nights the halls felt warmer than they should. Not unpleasant, where heat had escaped from the engines to permeate the whole with sticky miasma. But an emotional warmth, a blanket to cocoon around the heart to prepare for the darkness that lay ahead.

Other nights, like tonight, there were notes of grief in the song of the ship. Where the lights never quite glowed as bright, where the halls felt chilly and the dinosaurs on the pilot's console seemed to harden against the press of time.

Serenity needs her on these nights. She listens, not just to the sadness of the ship, but of its crew.

It is, she thinks, a proper thing. A sign of respect, a duty to share in the pain of his loss as well as the joy in his life. The vision that should have saved him came too late, shaped by terrible luck. It should have buried in the nose, angled down and away from him. Serenity would have needed repairs but they all would have survived. But something had changed the variables, the shot that should have missed didn't and by the time she saw it she was locked down in the mess, struggling to free herself, to explain.

He was her friend, one of the few to reach out at first, and she had failed to save him.

Perhaps he would have known what to do. How to explain what it was that she was experiencing. He was insightful, more than most people gave him credit for, or he'd divert with a charming story. She missed those stories, though they weren't always spoken aloud.

She missed the way they'd look at each other in a flash of remembrance, how the air would be coloured by their souls painting of the happiness they'd shared. Even in the scattered haze of her early days, it had calmed her. it had shown her that the world wasn't just darkness.

But those colours have dimmed around Zoe now. The painting of those memories is harsher, dark lines and vivid grief, cut across the hints of sunshine through stardust speckled windows as laughter echoes. The wounds are still too new, too sharp to heal.

Something flickers on the edges of her awareness. A heaviness that does not belong to an idle crewman. So wrapped up in the novelty of feeling, she had ignored his twisting thoughts. His mind was a chaotic jumble, Serenity valley strong in his steps and the need to orient himself amongst the stars is paramount. He wanted to drown himself in the vastness of space, remind himself that losing people was part of being a soldier, of being human. That no matter what he lost, he had to carry on.

Her presence would not help his thoughts. The terrible tangle of his mind couldn't be plucked apart in the gunfire speckled battlefield he found himself remembering. But his quarters were close. Too close for her to divert him, or to scurry away unseen as she normally would.

She understands now, the need for space. To be alone, even when all the other person wants to do is help.

There is no helping it though.

She curls up, legs tucking up to her chest and making herself small and quiet. Better than hiding, which would only cause suspicion and discord if she was discovered.

His eyes don't notice her when he enters. Instead they seek out the stars, as if they held the answers, as if they could calm him.

Mal. Bad in the Latin. But he had saved her, let her in and kept an eye. He'd made her part of the crew, when it was in his best interest to sell her out.

He's bleeding, not physically, but usually his restraint keeps his mind calmer than most, quiet when it counts. The anchor she can cling too when the world becomes too raw, too overwhelming to understand. But now that calmness is disturbed, a turbulent flurry of thoughts and emotions that drag her along.

She wants to close her eyes, rest her hand across them and try and ride out the dizzying blur. But moving would draw his attention. Right now she was invisible, silent and frozen.

But he's ridden out her darkness before, fought against her when the world had become a dark and simple place. Where instructions to destroy had been implanted and activated and everything had gone quiet. Where people had ceased to be people.

He finally sighs, and she takes it as her cue to appear, "Shouldn't bottle it up. Rattles the floor when you walk."

His surprise is gratifying and amusing, as is the long string of Chinese that spews from his mouth as he finally comprehended her presence.

His mind pressed against hers, strangely though it is the only mind that doesn't bother her to hear.

"You spyin on me little albatross?"

Her eyes focus forwards, the directness of eye contact would make him feel attacked, under the microscope.

"You're loud." She pauses almost petulantly, "I was here first."

It's a childish thing to add. But it helps calm the dizzying spiral his mind is making, curricles of amusement echoing through. It makes the world real again, makes people out of paper shades.

"Why didn't you say anything?" his question probes, but his mind asks a different question, 'How much did you hear?'

It's not deliberate. It takes her a moment to answer the right question., "didn't ask me."

"River." His tone is slightly chiding, and she quirks her lips in response, "not my fault if you aren't paying attention."

"it's my gorram ship!" his outrage is faked. But it's said as if it was justified. As if the ship was truly a place to be safe. But even this place wasn't safe. Not always. It was haven. It may even become home. But enemies still slunk inside her belly when she wasn't looking. Caution was necessary.

"there are wolves at the door. Should always be paying attention." A warning. But she's not sure why. The words were right, but they weren't hers to start with. An echo of a future too intangible to sense.

"no wolves in space."

She lifted her hand and pointed, "they're in there."

His silence is long, and she worries if she's said too much, pried in a way that isn't allowed. For all her abilities, she isn't sure how much is too much. What should be said and what should be restrained. She's never had that much responsibility before.

"Well if that ain't all kinds of strange." His voice finally breaks the tense moment, amused yet disturbed he lets her know where she stands. He doesn't want her digging any further, a tactic he'd used on her in the past.

It used to irritate the hell out of her. He'd deflect what little sense she could conjure, deliberately obscure the warnings she tried to give him. It is only now, now that she is more herself, that she understands those deflections for what they are. It was never about ignoring her. It was a way of shielding himself from the pain her words could cause. He did it with everyone, and that somehow reassured her now.

It was his way of coping, of making the intangible discomfort into something that could be turned away.

For a brief moment, a photograph flash, she catches a glimpse of the wolves in his mind. The supernatural beings that dripped blood from their teeth, moonlight eyes glinting with a savagery that defied normality. They prowled through the battlefields, an echo his deep seated rage, his hatred and fear of the alliance. But their prey wasn't just alliance soldiers, they sunk their teeth into friend and foe alike. Rage, it seemed, was his burden. Used unwisely it would turn all to shambles.

Ah.

That's why.

He'd dreamed of them, dreamed of the prowling wolves on the blood soaked fields of Serenity Valley. That's why he was afraid. That's why the image of a wolf was so vibrant in her mind and her understanding pricked like needles across his skin.

She knows the dreams he has.

Dreams where he is once again surrounded by gunfire. Dreams where he must watch the alliance rain hell down upon them, where the betrayal is most poignant, most shattering.

They clutch at her, draw her in when there is nothing else to hold her still. She watches, as he relives those dark memories. The taste of desperation in the air like cloying wine, thick and bitter across her senses.

Her hand lowers, tucking itself back against her body. The point made and it was rude to point. She murmured softly, eyes cast on the stars, "Storms too turbulent to fly through. Have to sit still a spell. Too dizzy to see straight."

Her words change the air between them. an implicit understanding, an acceptance of the line and a careful deviation from the sharp words. Amusement flickers in his mind, changing the melody of gunfire to something softer, memories of this serenity. With that thought, came warmth. A warmth she revelled in, drowned in.

Brilliant and shining in the dark spaces of his mind it reminded him there was more than blood.

Silence falls again between them. but not marred by the terrible tension to speak. Not that it was a tension she was accustomed to. She'd helped though. Somehow. Given him a little peace that he usually brought to her.

Perhaps now his mind would calm, perhaps the curious melancholy that pervaded the ship would subside and she would stand vigilant here.

That wasn't such a terrible fate.

* * *

 _Authors note: HI Guys !_

 _I've entered this into the Conman Competition (Alan Tudyk will read the winning entry and give a shout out to the authors) so it would be a reaaally awesome thing if you could go over and vote fore me :D_

 _If you dont want to, that's fine too :D_

 _Anyway, let me know what you think in that pretty review box down below :D_


	2. Lost Little Albatross

_._

Chapter Two

 _'_ _Lost little Albatross'_

There have always been good days and bad days.

When she first left the academy though, it seemed like the good days were just myths. Like she could never gather enough of herself to prove that there were good days. But lately there are a few more. Days where she remembers who she is, that her favourite berry is blue and that she loves to dance ballet but not Jazz. Those are good days, where thoughts follow logically, where the voice in her head is her own. She's not whole, but she's certainly better than she was.

There are also days when the good days seem like pieces of a fevered dream. Where people cease to be people and she feels perilously empty. Where the weapon seems far more real than the girl and the thoughts of everyone else crash against her skull in a cacophonous roar that almost overwhelms her. Those are the days that she secludes herself as best she can. Tucks herself away in the bowels of the ship to count her breaths and feel the solidity of the metal. Because the crew, her crew, seem like paper shades.

She forgets that Kaylee loves strawberries, or that she smells of engine grease and ionised air, or that every time she sees her it's like a little ray of sunshine even though she knows that's impossible. Jayne becomes an amalgamation of threats, easily dismissed and countered. She forgets that he loves his mother, that he owns a peculiar beanie and that he names his guns. She forgets what Zoe felt like before, sharp edges and grief stricken skin.

Simon seems almost immune at first, she remembers the way they used to play hide and seek in the library. He seems real, until she catches herself counting up the number of steps she would have to take before she could immobilize him. before she could say the words that would break her apart.

It is on these dark days that she can feel the Alliance reaching for her. When she wakes up from an unsteady slumber, bolting upright and hand pressed against her mouth before she can give herself away. They are always looking for her, watching and waiting for a fragment of her to drift away from the whole and call to them.

Though the Alliance had been shaken, it's foundations had not crumbled. Wounded but not slaughtered it was twice as deadly as before.

There are more good days than bad days now. But sometimes the bad days are terrifying.

She can feel herself splintering. Something will disturb her, shake the foundations of her very core and she's back in the Academy chair. She's the terrified little girl again, needles in her eyes and flooded with adrenaline. They manufactured nightmares to make her more and more afraid, break the will so that their programming could take effect. On those days she wants to crawl out over skin, claw at the marks they made and take out the stitches that catch on her insides and make her uneven.

But she won't. Because clawing at her skin only makes her bleed, there's no stitching to pull, no string to tug upon to unravel the mess they've made of her mind.

She feels alone, afraid and liable to breaking.

So she hides from them.

She's real now. The girl and not the weapon. She's made so much progress, assembled herself from the jigsaw that they had left her with.

If the crew saw her, if they knew, their faith would be shaken. She'd be the crazy girl again, dangerous and untrustworthy. They'd clip her wings and collar the bird so it couldn't hurt them.

Simon, in a misguided attempt to help, would make her sleep. Would trap her in the world where nightmares had far more power than they should be allowed and she would be helpless against them.

She stumbles as she drifts into the Cargo bay, the cavernous space calming but full of places to hide if the crew comes looking. Though Serenity was calmer, it was still mired in echoes. Blood that spilled, not just because of her.

For a moment she can see the law man being shot as Mal stormed back onto the ship when she first woke up. She remembers being entwined with his mind, with both of them. A flash of gunfire, of cold implacable defence. Horror and fear in the split second between the sound and death.

She tears her eyes away, only to see the echo of Kaylee. She's bleeding, shot when the Lawman first made his attempt. She wasn't awake at that point, wasn't really aware. but Simon had replayed it in his mind often. At first it was all Mal thought of when he looked at them, painting them as potential traitors. Though that association had faded, she shared enough of the memories that she can still feel the visceral punch as Kaylee went down. The fear and shock that spread through the crew like wildfire. The grim determination that burned in Simon, demanding that he protect her even at the cost of Kaylee's life.

There is nothing she can ever do to repay him for saving her. For realising and recognising her call for help. For giving up everything, all his dreams, to save her life.

Even though he was happy now, she knows that part of him wonders what his life would be like if he hadn't saved her.

She doesn't begrudge him that.

There is a flash of Early. Of the mad lion that clawed his way into her home and put a great fear into her crew. She remembers feeling his madness, like a discordant song amongst the melody of the galaxy. A sharp sour note that had no place to be as it was. He walks, footsteps heavy as he prowls across the hold towards her. In those steps though, were echoes of the people who stained his hands. The blood he'd carried on board had nearly drowned them all.

Her heart is racing, adrenaline kicking in to face a threat that isn't there. She wants to scream. To cry out that these memories weren't hers to begin with. she shouldn't have to wear them, that they shouldn't have the right to overwhelm her the way they do. But there is no one that can change it.

A sound breaks her despair, splinters the world, and without thought she dives into the crawlspace, desperate not to be found. The movement scrapes her knees and cuts into her hands, but the pains are small enough to be ignored. Flying was the only freedom she had, the proof that she had come so far. For it to be taken away from her now was more than she could possibly bear.

But it isn't Jayne, who would ignore her, or Simon or even Kaylee. It's Mal. And she draws herself even tighter into that tiny space. Maybe he won't notice. Maybe he'll accede to her silently muttered wishes and leave her be so that she can piece herself back together before morning comes.

"River?" his voice is soft, confused and concerned. It is also right outside the crawlspace. There was no way he hadn't seen her. "What are you doing?"

She flinches away, and his aura flickers with concern, "Maybe I should get Simon."

She sucks in air in a sharp painful gasp, "No!" he flinches in surprise and she manages to continue, "I'm not here. You're not supposed to see me."

It's childish, but she buries her face in her arms. Pretending for the brief second that if she doesn't see him, then he cannot possibly see her.

She's blocking them out, pulling her gifts down inside her like a fist. Clenching to stop herself from bleeding out.

"I'm not supposed to see?" he questions, but she feels his concern.

"You'll clip my wings. Won't trust me to fly." The admission feels painful, but she owes him the truth. She hunches down, "Hurt it but didn't kill it. It's still there. waiting."

She desperately wants to be alone, to lick her wounds and stitch what's left of herself together again. But in the same instant, she doesn't want to be alone.

When he finally speaks, it is softer, warmer, "River."

She swallows, the motion quick and reflexive. She's terribly afraid, going back now would be heartbreaking. Not just for her, but for Simon who had given up so much in the hopes of seeing her real again. She was finally making progress and he'd find out that she hadn't made it as far as he'd hoped.

"River listen to me." his voice now holds an echo of steel, calm and authoritative it reassures her, "You think I'm gonna stop you flying cause you're having a bad night?"

Sudden hope flares up through the disconnection of her synapses. She glances at him, and the look on his face isn't stern, isn't what she expected. He's crouched at the opening to the crawlspace, no doubt contemplating how to crawl in after her.

"You wont clip my wings?" her voice is tremulous, terrified and filled with an awful kind of hope.

He smiles at her and shakes his head.

The sheer relief drowns her, overwhelms her senses and floods her mind with a singular relief. Tears bubble up and pour down her cheeks in a flush of warmth. The sight of them surprises him, and she feels an echo of embarrassment paint the air.

"Gorram it. you're not supposed to cry." But he doesn't sound mad. Instead he feels confused, a little bit lost and very concerned. His mind however is wide open, and it's calm. He doesn't know how to handle her tears. Doesn't know how to make it better or how to reassure her that it's gonna be okay. Cause they've both seen too many bodies hit the floor for either of them to believe it was going to fine.

But the fact that he wants to help. That he wont clip her wings and chain her down, wont make her into the ghost again, it helps.

Finally he comes to a decision, "Come here."

He reaches out into the crawlspace, offering his hand. He doesn't grab her, like he would Kaylee, he catches her attention and allows it to be her choice. She chooses to take his hand, to slide out of the crawlspace like a frightened kitten, still shaking with the relief that she isn't going to lose everything. He opens his arms wide, "This is a limited offer. 'Parently this chest is mighty good at soaking up tears."

His quip makes her laugh, but the sound is a little sadder than she means it to be.

She hasn't hugged anyone in a long time, but something calls to her. so she does. She lets him hold her against his chest, a beacon around which to rebuild. She isn't used to touching people. Their minds are constantly spilling into hers, but touching makes it worse. So the warmth of him is…surprising.

It fills up the emptiness that the weapon carves, pushes its terrible memory aside and instead calls to the girl. With a shuddering breath and a flourish of dawning colours, people are people once more. She can remember that she really, really hates Brussel sprouts, that Zoe still holds onto one of Wash's Hawaiian print shirts because it still smells of him. She can remember the songs that Jane's mother used to hum when he was little, and that Simon would stroke her hair and tell her that she was going to be okay when the world fell to splinters around her.

Tears still tumble down her cheeks as the pieces of her line up again, like orderly soldiers returning from a battle they slip back into place, world worn and weary. She curls into his arms, and lets herself cry. His mind grounds her, shelters her in the dim lights of the cargo bay. She cries, and for once it is not alone in the hidden parts of her bunk.

He trusts her. The thought is heady, packed with a significance that calms her. He trusts her even though she's given him every reason not to.

She's crew, earned and kept. She isn't alone anymore.

* * *

 _Authors note: Hi again :D_

 _Thanks for your reviews so far :) i'm really flattered :D_

 _Anyways, here's the latest chapter, it was interesting to write, so hopefully you guys like it._

 _I would really appreciate it if you guys let me know what you think in that pretty little review box down below._

 _Ta ta for now,_

 _~Madamred_


	3. Trouble in the Dark

.

Chapter Three

 _'_ _Trouble in the dark.'_

There is something coming.

A flicker in the shadows, a certainty that crouched low in the fog. Too distant to touch, to truly comprehend. The further she tries to look, the more distant the event, the more scattered it becomes. The terrible tangles that tug at the vision distort it beyond understanding. Too many actions between now and then, too many choices that fog up the clarity of her vision.

But it worries her. Like a rip under the surface of the sea, a crocodile beneath the surface of the river, all appears calm but danger is lurking. She wants to protect them, but the future is frustratingly vague on answers. She can only make the moves now and hope that what she sees can be avoided.

She stares up at the hull of Serenity, lets her eyes drift across the solid metal and the intricate frame work that protected them from the outside world. Reclining along the catwalk, she allows herself to listen as the ship breathes around her.

Her crew is a bustle of activity, unloading the mule of its misappropriated goods. She wonders if they know that the mule is happy for them. That it's happy to serve. Regardless, they bustle about, soft chatter and gentle clanking as they hide away their stash. The sound is surprisingly comforting. The weight of their fates, their choices branching out from them like glittering golden threads, it was soothing. There is hope in them. A desire to move forward, to heal. They will never be the same. But maybe that is a good thing. To be the same after all that had happened, after what they had seen and what they had lost, was an insult to everything they had been. The scars will heal, the wounds will stitch together so that the pain is a memory as well and they will move on. Wounded but different. Just like her.

She knows that she will never be the River Tam that existed before the Academy. The little girl who had watched the stars with endless fascination, who had dreamed of dancing upon a stage. Though dancing still moves her, still makes her feel strong and graceful, it is not the same. In every pivot there is a deadly knowledge, in every step she knows that she could kill her dancing partner. The stars still gleam brightly, but they are sadder now. Tempered by the knowledge of the snakes in the grass, of the monsters under the bed and on the edge of the black. She can still see the cracks when she looks in the mirror. The visage of the girl who could have been but never was. Sometimes the only thing she can hope for is that her mind will remain stitched in place when morning came. But thanks to this crew she can hope for something more.

She can hope for the day where she feels whole and complete. Where she isn't the scapegoat of an entire organisation, where she can look out at the stars and not hear everyone else's thoughts but her own. It may be a long time coming, but she at least has the possibility of it now.

A sudden influx of warmth steals over her skin, an echo of joy that sounds just before laughter rings out below. Zoe, startled by something, laughs and the sound is wonderful. Jayne, it seems, had drawn her attention, stumbled and snarked in such a way as to surprise a laugh out of the normally stoic woman.

She revels in the sound, the husky sardonic music that seems to ring out as a beacon of hope. For so long now Zoe had been silent, trapped in a cage of grief and locked away like a prisoner in need of punishment. That she can laugh now, even though she immediately chastises herself for it, is a good sign. She will never forget Wash, he was far too much a part of her for that to happen. But she's beginning to heal. Though Mal doesn't react, she can sense his relief. Effervescent and light it tingles on her fingertips and the edges of her mind. His happiness at hearing her laugh again is hard to deny.

Life moves on. For once she can believe that.

She can feel the planet beneath them. Feel the sharp sizzling crack of energy that comes from living beings in close proximity. Though the planet is unfamiliar, the song is so much stronger than she expected. Intricate melodies twisting and turning around others, turning what should have been a chaotic jumble into a song that could move people to tears. They were so busy all the time, flittering from place to place, wrapped up in their own little worlds. All their voices, all their choices, flitter on the edges of her vision. Like a deck of cards spread out infinitely into the darkness of space. Before she would have been screaming, locked up and forced to focus on just one deck before she became overwhelmed. Choices that would never impact her, memories that were never hers to carry would surge into her insides and mark her as their own. But now, now she can focus. While she can't ever stop herself seeing them, she can drown them out with her crew.

It's strangely comforting the way the crew's minds make her feel. They wrap around her, like a blanket to shield against the terrors of sleep. They make it quiet when there was so much noise. It was hopeful. Life would move on, all the scars and cracks in the reflection were just part of the picture. There was a bigger world out there, a bigger universe.

She catches glimpse of a mind, a law man with a score to settle. He was prowling towards them, convinced that they were indeed the kind of prey he was looking for. Not for her, not for Simon, but for thieves. Thieves like this crew.

It only takes a moment to drift down to the lower level, to slink down steel steps and stand next to the mule as she stared ahead at the futures they had.

"Snakes in the grass." When she does speak, it is characteristically soft. Not really meant to be heard over all the noise they made. But Jayne flinches, jumping in surprise and swearing at her. It takes more concentration than she would have thought to suppress the smile.

Mal sets down one of the boxes, full of cargo that would make them some shiny money on Patience, and cocks an eyebrow at her, "Problem?"

It takes her a moment to settle herself. The world is made up of flurried sensations, of minds. It makes picking out a specific voice in the world much like picking out a needle in a stack of needles. She tilts her head, "He thinks he's a predator, and that we're prey."

Sometimes it's hard to translate what it is that she sees. A disconnection between the raw visceral sensations of her mind and her ability to translate it. The words aren't always hers, put in her mouth by visions she wasn't quite sure how to control. But she's getting better.

"We got trouble headed our way?"

She nods, "Looking for birds too foolish to stash their seeds and fly."

He stares at her for a long moment, deciphering her warning. It was a stare she was used to, one that she often attracted. For all she understood of why they stared, it was vexing. Plans are already taking shape in her mind, the future shuffling past as choices were discovered and discarded. She knows they wonder what she sees in these moments, and what she sees is maddening. A thousand different choices appearing and disappearing. Puzzle pieces to a hundred different jigsaws that somehow made sense when jumbled together.

Could they fly before the law man saw them? Could they make it before his partners fired into the sky?

If they faltered, if they failed, then the ricochet of their weapons would punch through the engine room. They would fall, gutted and alone.

"He's already here. Lying in wait. Have to be still."

"River." His voice is faintly irritated and it pulls her back to the present. He's wondering why she didn't tell him before, why she waited long enough to be caught in the trap.

"Not my fault. He wasn't coming this way before."

Suddenly the future is clear, and like the steps of a dance she's danced a thousand times, she knows what to do. Two steps and her hand slams down on the button to close the doors. The law man cries out in startled anger. But he wouldn't believe that they'd seen him. He'd get stupid. His anger would let him be tricked. Brought by bars, tempted by gold. he'd take it as a sign he'd found the secret. The more he had to work for the answer, the more he'd believe it on his own.

"River!" this time it was Zoe, and she wonders if any of them remember how to talk to her other than her name.

"He has to work. Or he won't believe."

Simon came to her side, radiating concern. She frowned at him, "Not crazy. Helping."

He blinked, "I didn't think you were being crazy."

She gave him the look the comment deserved and there was a faint flush to his cheeks and he cleared his throat, "How can I help?"

Mal drew her attention, sudden understanding infusing his mind. He nodded once, "You don't. both of you get out of sight."

A flicker of a smile caught at her lips, the plan in motion, the characters selected and set. She turned and scampered up the stairs. It was only when she reached the top that she realised Simon hadn't followed her.

"Simon!" her voice was sharp, but it made him smile. Because it wasn't a desperate cry for sanity. It was, instead, the sound of an irritated younger sister. It took him only a moment to join her as the crew made the ship presentable. They hid away from prying eyes, safe and secure in a place he wouldn't come near.

Though the Alliance had lost support with the revelations of Miranda, they still had bounties on both their heads. Liking the Alliance was one thing, but money talked to everyone. The last thing any of them needed was another Jubal Early.

* * *

 _Authors note: Howdy everyone!_

 _I really am trying to get these out on a weekly basis. But with my current workload that might vary by a couple of days. So I apologize for the weird times ;/_

 _Anywho, I hope you guys are enjoying this so far, it's pretty fun to write from her perspective._

 _As always, please let me know what you think in that pretty review box down below. I'd really really appreciate it :D_

 _(Also, many thanks to the people who have reviewed so far and who have sent me some pretty wonderful messages.)_

 _Ta ta for now,_

 _~Madamred_


	4. A song in the heart of the ship

.

Chapter Four

 _'_ _A song in the heart of the ship'_

There is a song in the heart of the ship. A soothing peaceful melody composed of the gentle thrum of the engines spinning, of the air whispering through the vents, of the lighting flickering inside the steel shell. For the most part it is a quiet song, one that echoes on the edges of her awareness. It is the song that she wraps around herself before finally succumbing to her body's need to rest. It is the peacefulness that helps when all else seems to be unreal.

But there are nights when that changes.

When the simple melody becomes something more, when there is suddenly more spirit, more song and she is caught up in the ecstasy of the music. It catches at her, fills in the blanks in her mind and calls forth the memory of instruments. Of a rich and vibrant sound so complex and grand that she cannot help but feel it in her bones.

The sounds claw at her skin, draw her up from her bunk and into the wide open space of the cargo hold. It fills her with grace and assures her a place within the music itself and from the moment her heavy combat boot touches the metal she is flying.

The steps come easily, drawn up from some memory and strung together in a way that somehow makes perfect sense. She does not remember learning to dance, only that the steps allowed her to feel strong and graceful when all the world gave her reason to feel anything but. She keeps perfect time, spinning within the confines of a song only she can hear, of a new and vibrant melody that has never graced her before.

For a few fleeting moments she is unbound. Given the freedom to lose herself in the dance, to hear the melody only she can and to compliment it in a way only she knows how. The scrape of over boots on the steel grate, the clang as she lands from a jump half thought out and barely planned. The soft flickering swish of her dress as she spun and arched as an extension of the music itself.

She feels alive and whole, part of the song and part of the underlying melody that echoed in the strings of the 'verse. For these few brief moments she is not the pawn of the academy, she is not the moon brained river tam and she isn't even the unchained Albatross that this ship allows her to be. She is herself, a dancer caught in the ecstasy of the song.

The song changes though, evolves and incorporates the world around it. A storm strikes outside, soaking where they've docked. She can hear the soft counterpoint of rain against burnished steel, the rolling echo of thunder as it cried out overhead and the crackle of lightning as it rent across the sky.

It happens between one motion and the next, a sudden influx of warning, a punch to the gut of sharp painful sensation and she gasps. A warning, dire and fierce scalds her, and she freezes in place. Something was coming, horrible and wishing to harm. Her mind filled with fire, of a dangerous entity. Of screaming and pain and of Serenity falling.

She slams into the grating hard, flung back from the sheer force of the vision striking at her mind.

It was a red haze, slicing into her mind with all the rudeness of lions claws. She can hear them now, hear the agonised screaming. She struggles, pushing them away, pushing out as if they were really there, holding her down and spilling their madness like bile down her throat. A face far more terrible than any soldiers face could ever be hovered above her, hands on her throat. Cut up and bleeding but not from another's hands. She can feel their pain, the horrible saw blade haze of reality they lived in. Eternally angry, eternally condemned to burning the life and light out of everyone and everything. But past them, the echoes of the lives they had taken, the wounds they had inflicted, all of them seething together in a cacophony of pain.

Their name didn't suit, and yet it did. It wasn't enough to describe the true horror of their nature, of their existence, and yet it described their practices almost to a tee. They spread across the verse, razing villages to the ground, slaughtering thousands in an attempt to end the madness that possessed them.

Reavers.

She needs to warn the crew. They need to be gone, like birds startled by the noise, they need to flutter away. But the Reavers still held her still. She feared them, more than the academy, more than anything the Alliance could ever do. Feared them in the darkest of her dreams. Though the weapon could kill them, it was not the physicality of their presence that frightened her. It was the weight of them. of a million minds crying out in rage and horror. When they came near she could feel them as if she were one. She could feel their fingers tear through skin, could feel the sick feeling of flesh between her teeth. The horrifying high they felt with every kill was pumped into her and she feared their madness far more than her own.

She reaches out, desperate for someone, anyone to ground her. To push away the horror of their minds and to pull her back to the steel floor of Serenity. Her crew is in danger, and she must warn them.

But her mind is overwhelmed, trying to find the version of her, trying to figure out where the Reavers madness ended and her own light began was hellish.

Something touched her hand, a flicker of warmth against her face and a voice calling her name in the darkness. More real than the Reavers it called to her. Her mind reached out through that touch, seeking stability and a reassurance that the world wasn't painted red. Her eyes finally focus, returning her to Serenity and to where the mind that settled her watched her with anxious eyes.

Mal. He was undoubtedly the most blessed thing she had ever seen in that moment. Her fear, her sheer stark terror must have showed because his gaze sharpened. Though there were times when he joked around, more often than not really, there were also moments like this. Moments were she could see the soldier he had been, see the captain he was meant to be, feel the authority he wielded like a whip. It calmed her, made her feel safer than she was.

It takes a moment for his voice to reach her again, but when it does it is utterly calm. He is the captain now, and they need to fly. She draws down, finds the disconnected pieces and shoves them together to warn him.

"Reavers!" her voice is a hoarse and terrible shout and he blanches at it.

He nods, and asks, "Can you fly?"

She's not sure. She doesn't know if they'll overwhelm her again and if she drowns while they're flying she'll be the death of them all. But her crew needs her. She's the one who can see, the one who can look ahead and find the safest way out.

It has to be her. Someone else might get it wrong.

So she nods. Afraid and fluttery she knows it's the only way. A flicker of approval gleams in his eyes and he nods back, helping her stand.

Adrenaline courses through her system. flooding her veins and threatening to make the world black and white again. She refuses. Because the weapon won't fly the ship. She'll kill the reavers if they come, but she'll also kill everyone on board. He trusts her, and that means something. It gives her a little bit of steel in her spine, a little bit of determination to face it down.

As she makes the preparations, as the crew wakes and scrambles into position, the melody of the ship appears again. The engines whir into high gear, and she feels like Serenity is just as eager to fly under her fingertips.

The cards shuffle before her, and she watches, careful and concise, picking the path that would save them all. She sets them free of the docking bay, kicks their engine up and pulls them into the sky, desperate to avoid the incoming threat.

Vibrations travel through the ship, feeding into her fingertips as if Serenity herself is anticipating. Her gaze flickers briefly over to the plastic dinosaurs, still in pride of place. For a moment she sees Wash there. florescent shirt, cocky grin and shining eyes gripping the pilot's controls.

He winks at her, playful and confident and she turns her gaze back to the sky. Her breathing slows, and the terrible anxiety calms. Though she wasn't Serenity's only pilot, nor was she the one that could truly dance with her as Wash had, she wasn't alone.

The storm streams around them, a part of her feels exultant. Flying high in a storm, while dangerous, was a thrilling thing. But still she scanned ahead. And that's when she felt them. Her breath catches, her eyes widen as their madness turns from background noise into a concert. They're so loud that the cards seem to blur in front of her, her grip falters and she struggles not to cry out in fear.

A hand suddenly rests on her shoulder, a touch that pushes the madness away. It grounds her, makes the future clearer and reminds her that Serenity is still flying. She doesn't glance up, but she knows that mind. It is filled with certainty, an unwavering belief that she could do this. That she could fly them out of danger and that she wouldn't crash and kill them all.

For a brief moment she can almost hear Wash murmuring, "here's something you can't do."

The plan is terribly simple, yet hard to pull off. At her command Serenity dips and weaves, using the cloud banks as cover and making it out of the atmosphere without drawing the Reavers eye. Each flick of the controls, each careful move planned out in rapid time, shuffling the future to find the one she needed to find.

Though the storm was beautiful in its own way, it was nothing compared to the wondrous expanse of the verse that opened up to them. Mal smiles and squeezes her shoulder, and she wonders briefly if she could and should thank him. The chances he takes on her, the ones he took and the ones he's still willing to take. The sympathy he provides without becoming pity. Perhaps there is no way to thank someone for whole ship feels lighter as they make their escape.

There is a solid ache to her now, her mind worn from the flickering stress of seeing so much and changing so much in such a short period of time. Weariness tugs at her bones, but she can't help but glance over at the dinosaurs again.

They were still flying.

* * *

 _Authors note: Sorry about the slight delay. I had intended to post this on Saturday. But my constant irritation of a course decided to drop a crap ton of work on me in this week alone. Plus I've torn another ligament, so I'm back in the doom boot (Cam boot)._

 _Anyway, I hope you guys are enjoying this so far. Please take the time to let me know what you think, it really does make my day just a little more shiny._

 _Ta ta for now,_

 _~Madamred_


	5. Step in the Dark

.

Chapter Five

 _'Step in the Dark'_

It isn't often that she feels alone.

Before, when her mind was shattered, it was the opposite. She was filled up with so much noise, so many minds and so many secrets that there was never any time to think. Now though, her ship and her crew don't generally leave room for that. They're loud, but in a good way, filling up the black with their hope and their light. She feels a part of them, rather than feeling as if she is them. It keeps her grounded and whole. And she relishes it.

But every so often it will happen. It won't be monumental, but she'll step outside. Miss a step in the dark and all of a sudden she isn't like them anymore. They never notice, but she feels it keenly. She looks at them and it's as if all that warmth she was part of now exists for everyone but her. She feels cut off and alone and every time it happens it strikes her down anew.

They're eating, and she should be part of it. She was moments ago, but right now she feels entirely alone. Worlds away but somehow still present. The food tastes like ashes in her mouth, clinging to her tongue and making swallowing difficult. Inara touches his arm, the gesture simple and flirtatious and it strikes a chord within her that she didn't know was there. The way his eyes looked when he saw her, softened somehow and became different than when they looked at everyone else.

As she glances around the table, she understands. She's the odd one out. they balance each other, find echoes of others within themselves. Even with the losses they'd sustained the bond was still there, still shining.

She knows that Simon still loves her. Not the same way he loves Kaylee, but he's stopped watching. While his constant fussing had been irritating at times, it had reminded her that he was there. that no matter how dark the world got, he was looking for her, watching out in the chaos to bring her safely home.

But now that she's better, that her thoughts line up sometimes, fixed in some ways but not all, he's not watching so closely.

When she watches him laugh at the table, feels that subtle rush of warmth as his amusement paints the air around them, it makes her insides twist in a new way. Her hands curl into fists under the table, tugging at the delicate dress she's wearing and part of her wants to tear it to threads. She doesn't blame him for the happiness he's found with Kaylee. She wants to, it would be easier than playing like she understands, as if it doesn't faze her.

Because, in reality, it does.

It bothers her that she doesn't have it. Jealousy isn't new, but this is different. Not like when Simon got to go to the lake and she didn't. This hurts more. It hurts watching him find the happiness she never will. She wants someone to look at her the way Simon looks at Kaylee, the way Wash looked at Zoe. But that future isn't in the cards. Or if it is, it is a long way off.

She wants it, badly. Not just anyone, not a random stranger but someone real…someone important. And with a start she realises why watching Inara flirt with Mal makes her twisted and strangling. It's because she wanted him.

The realisation comes with a terrible shard of pain, freezing the air all around her. Her breath catches, eyes wide, and they're laughing at a joke Jayne makes but she doesn't here. If any of them had been watching, they would have seen her stumble as she left the room.

She needs to get out, to escape the all too happy press of their minds and figure out how to avoid the pain breaking her apart where she stood.

What could she possibly understand of Love?

She was a reader, designed to slip into another's senses. To hear their thoughts and know their secrets as her own. People didn't like having their secrets read, didn't like the way the insides of their minds painted across the inside of hers.

Most emotions were easy to understand. Anger felt like fire ants under her skin. Catching flames at the kindling of her skin and turning reason into ruin. It consumed like fire and when it came it scorched away everything else. Sadness, in contrast, was colder. A simpering slippery melancholy that pervaded her senses and dragged at her every step. Made her feel too heavy to fly.

But love?

Simon still loved her. She knew that. Light and life, affection and warmth when he looked at her. He still saw her, echoed with the memories of their past. Of the golden light and laughter in a library they'd both long since left behind.

But with that same rush of warmth there was an echo of grief. Melancholy as he remembered what she'd suffered and what he'd given up to save her.

But that isn't what she feels around Mal.

He seems shiny, a stationary place in a world spun about by chaos. His thoughts are ordered, strains of a military song under the beat of his heart. He understands her, better than most. He counts her in, keeps an eye. But he doesn't see her as broken. She's River. Not mei mei, not the sister who shattered to carry secrets that weren't her own. Not the crazy mixed moon brain that Jayne referred to her as. Just River.

She could feel his anger over what had happened to her, blaming himself in some small way for it. Believing that if they'd fought harder, called down the air support they'd been promised, then maybe she wouldn't have shattered. But he actually sees her. Not as the ghost of the girl that she had once been, but rather with the glimmer of the girl she could be. Named her Albatross and called her their good luck charm.

Her fingers tug at the threaded hem of her dress. Part of her wants to pull it to pieces, to tear up the terrible tangles and excise these awful feelings that strangle her. For all that she wants to be the same, to be the girl that falls in love and the one that can be from the stories…she knows that she isn't. She wants Mal, but he could never love the girl she was. He was their captain, shiny and important.

She knows that, knows his importance in the same way that she knows how to dance. It is a thing she learned and never forgot.

Her place in this ship is clear, she's crew. The sister of their doctor, the girl who had danced with the reavers and saved everyone but the pilot. She was their albatross. But she wasn't Inara. She wasn't graceful and stitched together. Slick words and smooth cadences defied her, emotions running into and over her without any part of it being under her command. She doesn't know how to say the right words…or what the right words even are.

There is a terrible gnawing feeling in her chest, somehow it feels cold and hot at the same time, scalding edges of a shard of ice. The plastic dinosaurs ignore her, staring out at the infinite expanse of space with a sereneness that she finds irritating. Warmth prickles in her eyes, she dashes at them with the back of an exasperated hand startled by the sudden wet warmth. Tears had started on their own, sliding down her cheeks and dripping off her chin. In a flash she covers her mouth so the sound won't carry.

"I know Jaynes jokes are bad, but they aren't bad enough to cry over Lil albatross."

She flinches, curling in on herself. How?! How was he able to surprise her like that? Normally she was aware of him, always, like a stable warmth at her side. She scrubs at her face, scratching away at the tears and shaking her head almost frantically, "Not crying."

He chuckles at that, "I aint the best when it comes to emotions, but even I can tell when you're crying little one."

The nickname hurts, more than it should. Reminds her sharply that she isn't the same in his eyes. Something to be cradled, to be protected and sheltered. But not to be loved. She doesn't turn to face him, staring out at the stars.

"Against the rules." her last ditch effort to make him stop asking. But it doesn't work.

"To notice you crying?" his confusion is audible, and he takes a step into the bridge with her.

She nods petulantly, "not supposed to say it. 'sposed to pretend." Her voice is thick, pain and terrible sorrow carried like notes to change the song between them.

Another step, his presence is warmth incarnate and it changes the feel of the bridge, "not when you're hurting this bad. Tell me what's wrong River?"his voice takes on a sharper note, more authority and steel than normal with her. It was his captain voice, and it helped the world settle down around her.

She shakes her head, "Not fair. Can't just command it."

He laughs, and the sound feels like sandpaper over raw skin, "Pretty sure that's what a captain does."

To her horror tears keep tumbling down her cheeks. He tilts his head and steps closer still.

"Can't sort it out none if you don't speak up." His concern is clear. But still she fears telling him.

She sniffs, an ungainly sound, but it makes him reach out a little before he controls himself. He seems resolute, standing at her side, determined to face whatever darkness she was facing with her.

She's never lied to him, not really anyway. And not speaking isn't an option either. She swallows, suddenly dry throat flexing and she squeezes her hands into fists down by the hem of her dress.

"Can't have that." The admission is barely a strangled whisper, broken and sad.

"Have what River?" Patience and calm, that's what he projects towards her and she wishes he wouldn't. Wishes that he would go away and leave her to stitch herself together in peace.

"Broken inside. I don't work right. I can't be like that." Her body hunches in, hands tearing the delicate fabric of her dress like paper, "Light and life and warmth, but it isn't for me."

"River" his tone is conciliatory, false and she flinches away from him.

"No!" sharp and pained the sounds escapes her without conscious directive to do so. Her hand claps over her mouth and she feels her body trembling, "You don't understand."

"What's not to understand? You'll find some nice boy, or girl, that makes you happy." He tries to pacify her, to reassure her with platitudes. But the platitudes were empty and hollow, he doesn't get it. He can't possibly comprehend.

"Want what I can't have. Always have." Drawn out and weak the words sound bitter and vile.

"Explain it to me. please?" he wants to help. But helping could only hurt him. he didn't know it, but she did.

The air feels inexplicably colder around her, and she feels more alone than ever.

"It's not mine. It wont be. Can't be. Sweeter hands already lay claim and I have to watch and pretend I don't care!" she turns, prepared to flee. But he catches her arm before she can take off.

"Is this about Simon and Kaylee?" though his grip is tight, his voice is impossibly gentle. She stares at him, eyes wide and tears trembling on lashes, he's never grabbed her before. He wants to understand. He's trying. She shakes her head in answer to his question. She can see the wheels turn in his head, hear his realisation before she blocks him out. She can't hear his rejection twice, can't feel it with his emotions in her as well.

"Oh." His voice is far softer. Anxiety overwhelms her, but before he can say it. say the words that will hurt and make it real, Inara calls from the hall with a gentle, "Mal?"

Inara wasn't close enough to hear, but had come to find her lost captain. Her heart twisted in her chest and she couldn't stand being here. She yanked her arm free and took off, ignoring his cry behind her, fleet and flying on broken wings.

* * *

 _Authors note:_

 _So...This is a little late. Sorry :) i had two major assignments due this weekend, and I didnt want to put out a terrible quality chapter._

 _I hope you guys are liking this so far :D_

 _Have a really awesome day :D_

 _Ta ta for now,_

 _~Madamred_


	6. Still Flying

.

Chapter Six

 _'_ _Still Flying'_

She wonders, briefly, if he can be convinced to forget. To pass off her pained half admission as crazy muttering from a girl that was quite real yet. The notion is discarded as quickly as it appeared. He'd staked everything on the theory that she was a person, whole and true. He wouldn't see her that way now.

Simon would certainly not approve, that much she can sense. He'd think it was just because her options were limited. Between Jayne and Mal, of course she'd pick mal. But while that was true in a sense, it isn't what draws her to him, like a moth caught in the gaze of the flame.

It is the promise of peace in his bones. The darkest knowledge of death that they both shared, the certainty that the universe was completely mad and only pretended to be sane. But scratch the surface and it was easy to see, a melting pot of life. Mal is indescribably real in a realm that defied reality. He sees her, and he was the second to actually hear her.

But now all of that hangs in the balance, uncomfortable and tremulous. Held aloft on gossamer strings, fragile and stretched nearly to breaking. She has changed the dynamic between them, without really meaning to. Now she stands to lose one of the few allies she has managed to garner.

Worse still…

What if the resulting dynamic shift disrupted the rest of the crew? They were still the newest additions, if Simon had to leave again because of her…she would never forgive herself.

The room they gave her, named it her own, feels far smaller than it is. She itches, filled with a twisting turning energy that bounces around in her cells. She is uncomfortable in her own skin, possessed of a need to move and yet the idea of moving is intolerable. She has to remember that he isn't hers. She isn't like Inara, graceful dances and flirtatious touches. She isn't stitched together and she's got an awful lot of blood on her hands. Inara can bring peace, a sense of warmth and safety. But all she can bring is a dire warning, terrible memories and a sick feeling in the pit of their stomachs.

Briefly she entertains the idea of avoiding him. Of slipping through the ship in their day to day and just by coincidence not being in the same spot he is. But that too is a foolish thought. She is a pilot, they gather more often now and it would be strange for her not to attend. Not after all the effort they've gone to, making sure she's got a place at their hearth.

The blankets, scratchy wool and dark grey tangle around her legs. Binding her up in a mockery of imprisonment. She wants to run, yet conversely she wants to hide away. This kind of intensity was new for her, the emotions were actually hers, twisted gut and strangling fingers clutching at her throat.

This time she feels him coming. Feels the warmth of his life, his aura like a buffer painting the air before him. She doesn't, however, read his mind. Desperately she drowns out that part as best she can. Pain isn't pleasant after all, and the pain of his rejection might just break her apart.

There aren't any escape points, not that she really considered them anyway. There was no point in running any longer. Serenity, for all the immensity held within it, was actually quite a small ship. He comes to a stop in front of her door, and she can feel her heart fluttering in her chest like the wings of a hummingbird. Her fingers twist in the dark grey of the blanket, seeking some form of stability. Part of being human, she'd learned, of being real and not the ghost of a girl who was, was handling the painful things.

He knocks, the sound short and sharp in her room. For a moment she hesitates to answer, pretending briefly that she isn't there, that she isn't real enough to be caught here.

But he knocks again, and she knows that its time.

"Yes captain?" her voice is soft, tired and drawn out. At the very least the tears have dried on her cheeks and she knows that she must look terrible. But she couldn't find it within herself to care. She felt impossibly small and fragile, tucked up against her wall.

He opens the door and her heart aches at the sight of his face. It was his captain face, the face he used when he didn't want others to know what he was thinking. It was the face he used to lay down the rules on Kaylee and the others.

"Can't sort this out if you keep running."

She can't keep eye contact with him, and instead drops her gaze to her knees. "Stopped running. Otherwise you wouldn't have found me." her voice is slightly petulant, and it makes him laugh.

"True enough I suppose. Can I come in?"

She likes that he asks, that he feels like he should ask. It's an acknowledgement that the space is hers, and like her mind she has the right to refuse entry. She nods, and he steps across the threshold and pulls the door shut. This time he glanced at the bed, but this time he didn't have to ask it. She simply nodded, letting him sit down across from her.

He takes up more room here than he should. His physicality isn't that large, but his life, his aura fills up the quiet spaces in the tiny room and made him seem so much bigger than he was.

"River….I…" he is hesitant to begin and she thinks to spare him the pain of having to reject her.

"It's okay. Don't have to explain. I'm not her." she cannot bear to look at him, instead laying her cheek upon her knees and staring at the wall. "She's got all the parts of her in the right spaces, she knows how to be normal. How to be peaceful."

The words hurt to say. Feel like they catch and carve at her throat, bleeding her from the inside out. She desperately blocks him out, not needing to feel his agreement of the matter. Her fingers tighten in the blanket, knuckles turning white.

"I don't know how to be that way. My hands aren't sweet. Blood doesn't sing at their touch. They're just hands."

Seconds tick by, and she wants to look at him but she refuses. The look on his face will break her heart and she can put that off if she doesn't look. He sighs softly, and she can't help but flinch away from that sound. Hunkers down and braces herself, "River."

The gentleness in his voice soothes her a little. But she still doesn't look up. He shifts a bit, no doubt thinking of what to say.

"You think an awful lot. Guess that comes with being a genius." His tone is still that maddeningly gentle. The absurdity of his comment makes her chuckle, even if the sound is awful and strained.

"You're right, in that you aren't like Inara."

She flinches again, part of her desperately wants to get this over with. to glance inside his mind, get the pain over and done so she doesn't have to keep feeling this way.

"But that isn't a bad thing." She freezes, breath caught in arctic lungs. She glances up and the look on his face isn't one she knows how to describe. It's warm and soft. For a moment it reminds her of the look he wore when speaking to Inara. He smiled at her, and it made her stomach flip, "Finally. Thought you'd stare at the wall forever."

She gives him a look, and he half shrugs out of the joke. But the amusement faded, "You reading me?"

A flash of denial, she shakes her head, too terrified to breathe out. It makes him chuckle again, "Thought so. You should."

Hope and terrible fear constricted her chest, made her heart feel like it was beating too fast and her stomach feel like she was going through zero grav. Slowly, tentatively, she lets her mind reach out. What she finds in his mind shocks her.

Its…its warm. Light and life, warmth and affection. All of it…all of it was for her. Inara wasn't in his thoughts but she was!

He was staring at her, letting her read his mind, opening it up and letting her see. Her hand covers her mouth as tears start anew. He looks vaguely distressed, "I didn't think you'd cry."

"but…but you're supposed…you've always." She cannot get the words out, choked up and terrified that this might be just his way of showing that while he does care, it isn't the way she wants it to be.

He smiles, "Inara and I. We're not more."

"You wanted to be." Her voice is accusatory and she really doesn't mean it to be. Fortunately, he understands. Understands and there's a rush of warm amusement as he considers her jealousy in a new light.

"Once. But not now." his face is soft, and he reaches out to tuck some of her hair behind her ear. The gesture is new, shiny and feels so different from when Simon did it to soothe her.

"I'm not saying I have it all worked out little one. But I do know I care for you."

His gaze is powerful, magnetic and compelling she stares into his eyes and feels the solidity of his mind behind it. It's more comforting than she could have ever imagined it to be. It makes her smile, relief and joy bubbling up from her insides as she blurts out, "me too." He leans forward, pressing his forehead to hers gently.

"I know. But it's nice to hear." His voice is lower now, softer and warm. It's not the captainy voice, its new and she feels like its hers alone.

"Even though I'm not stitched in the right order?" her voice is soft, tremulous and concerned. She doesn't want to ask, but it's unbelievable.

"You're a person River. Unique and whole. A person I'm liking."

More tears spill over her cheeks and she hugs him in a sudden movement. He lets her tucking her against his body with an ease that belied the seriousness of it. She basks in the warmth of his mind, in the knowledge that he didn't hate her, that she hadn't ruined everything.

She likes the way that the jealousy and doubt vanishes, the way it releases her chest and all she can feel is a warm bubbly relief.

It won't be perfect. They'd still have to figure this out. She doesn't know the first thing about relationships, not first hand. They'll make mistakes and they're both hard headed enough to hurt the other.

But at the very least, they have a chance. A flicker of possibility where only heartache had existed before.

And as they both knew, chances were very good places to start.

* * *

 _Authors note: I am so sorry about the delay! Uni is really difficult at the moment and i had two assignments due over the last week. Both of which were annoying :/_

 _Anyways, I hope you've enjoyed this story. I may follow up on it in the future, but for now, this is where the story ends._

 _Please take a moment to let me know what you think, I'd really appreciate it :D_

 _Ta ta for now,_

 _Madamred_


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